Talk Mates
by Siu Saki
Summary: When Angel is buried under the ocean… Wes meets Buff in a bar… they talk. Probably BA, but with BW friendship references. More pairings later. Don’t flame? If I continue it’ll turn AU, let’s just see what happens…


Author's Note: It got stuck in my head. And won't come out, weird things my muse who is in Bahamas makes me write. I wanted to get this out before my tests started, otherwise I'd get distracted and all. not really up to any standard.  
  
Disclaimer: Three words. Big, FAT executives. And not mine.  
  
Spoilers: Season 6 of Buffy, Season 3 AND 4 of Angel and the basic arc of Angel and Buffy. Because there are references.  
  
Summary: When Angel is buried under the ocean. Wes meets Buff in a bar. they talk. Probably B/A, but with B/W friendship references. More pairings later. Don't flame? If I continue it'll turn A/U, let's just see what happens.  
  
Feedback: The reason I wait up in the morning.  
  
Wesley Wyndam Pryce's vision was starting to get fuzzy. Not that he minded it much- he liked the distorted version of the world around him, it was much better really, than the real world. A mixture of violent colors, loud music, harsh and bright. Not calm and mellow and dark. Like a confused eye, he thought groggily. The only thing to be disappointed about the whole affair of drinking too much, was the terrible hangover he was to get the next morning. Or afternoon, or evening. Time doesn't matter much when you live in the dark.  
  
He wasn't usually like this. Normally he had a considerably large uphold for alcohol, but today just seemed so routine that one must make a breakthrough. He glared at the shot glass of whiskey, the yellowish- amber mixture reflecting his new image back at him- more significantly, his new scar, which could barely be seen- if one didn't know what to look for. But unfortunately, he did and the reminder of-  
  
"Wesley? Oh god, is that you?"  
  
He was drunk, but not so drunk he couldn't think straight enough. British are supposedly known for their liquor. He thought randomly. His hand automatically reached for his stake inside his coat and checked for the locks underneath the sleeves of his leather jacket. Leather jacket- now that was a shocker. He hadn't known why he was wearing it- no he actually did. He had been riding on his motorcycle to a bar on the outskirts of town- given the famous weather difference in California, had brought his coat along. Or so he told himself. But the coat was short and has a zipper; it smelt of whiskey, smokes and old books, not to mention sand wood from the stakes and probably the cool night air. It doesn't smell of baby power and soap and salt and the faint scent of Cordelia's perfume.  
  
"You look well. really different."  
  
He remembered her name now. Golden hair. Large eyes. Powerful and strong. Young and innocent. Rebellious.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
"Glad you're still sober enough to remember me." She ordered a double shot.  
  
He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Strong stuff."  
  
"Learnt it from Spike. It helps sometimes."  
  
"So I've heard. Spike is helping you then?"  
  
He sounded like Giles. Sometimes it's easy to forget that Giles wasn't her only Watcher. She drained her second shot.  
  
"Not at the moment. But he does. sometimes." She didn't sound like she wanted to dwell on the topic. Wesley understood it too well. He didn't push.  
  
"So what about you?" she asked, gesturing to his neck. "Scar. I'm guessing Angel's son didn't cut you did he?"  
  
He was surprised.  
  
"I know about Angel's son and that stuff. It's kinda hard not to know about it. I was so angry he didn't tell me-" She drained the 3th shot of whisky and made a disgusted expression.  
  
"I went and slept with Spike." The bartender walked by and Wesley turned the next shot down. This was news. Not very important world ending news to him, but still news. He'd known from a vague account from Angel that Buffy took her resurrection hard. But he hadn't known it had gone that deep. He could only guess that Angel sleeping with Darla- and having a child was the last straw. He could relate.  
  
"So scar. Talk" She instructed him. "I opened up."  
  
He looked at her. She was very pretty. It was easy to admit. Her blonde hair was longer than he remembered, not long enough for the luxious curls she used to have, nor the rich golden colour- but lighter, stick straight and choppier. The ends of her hair brushing just above her white tank top. Bangs covered her large and expressive eyes, but he'd caught a flash of them. Weary, wise and beautiful. And she had grown considerably since the last time he had seen her- 3 years? She had also been angry at the time, at Angel for protecting Faith. Just a girl, lashing out hurtful words that had made Angel brood for several weeks. He sympathized with her too. So young, he thought again. She's probably be too drunk to remember what I'd said in the morning.  
  
"Long story."  
  
She turned to him and arranged her matching skirt around her stool.  
  
"I've got the whole night to spare."  
  
***  
  
"Jesus Christ," she said. "You blew it big time."  
  
"Yes indeed, I do know that." He replied, annoyed. He gulped down his shot of whiskey. They were getting drunker now, and much more familiar towards each other. Now Buffy was currently being fed the long version of Wesley's life story- up to the most recent. She seemed to be taking it rather casually. He'd expect her to have more reaction towards Angel's pillow stuffing and child losing. She had taken the role of only an onlooker, not a participant. Either she had really cut off all ties with Angel, or the drinks must have hit her too hard. He suspected it was the latter.  
  
"Okay, another one."  
  
"Hit me."  
  
"Favorite flavor of ice-cream."  
  
"Pistachio."  
  
"Never tried it, sounds too icky."  
  
"You may have a different idea when you've tried it. Don't judge it before you wing it."  
  
"Now you're just trying to sound British again. Don't do that."  
  
"I wasn't trying to."  
  
"Yes you were."  
  
"No I wasn't!"  
  
"There you go again."  
  
"Well I was born British!"  
  
She was silent.  
  
"That's true." She said thoughtfully. "My drink then." She grabbed the shot on the table and drained it.  
  
Wesley looked at the Slayer proudly. She was righteous, yes. And fair. Even in the little things. But it is also the little things that count, isn't it? And there is so much else to be proud about her. The most long lived Slayer in history, the first slayer to die and come back. The one who not only just slayed vampires, but saved the world- but then again, he used to be able to do that too, on a daily basis. And it was all because of this one girl that he was proud of right in front of him, who seemed to be on the verge of throwing up.  
  
"I can handle it." She said catching his look. "Slayers may not have come in handy with an ability to take in large amount of alcohol, but I have yet to become an alcoholic. Plus, the best way is to just get stoned enough to sleep past the hangover."  
  
Slayers, he reflected, also didn't have an ability to make fun of the apocalyptic situations they were in, nor make puns at vampires and other descendants from Hell. Nor the ability to take over the responsibility of a mother, advert an apocalypse weekly, kick demon ass nightly, handle bills, work on a job at the Doublemeat Palace and still find time for dealing with her own death and her best friend's addiction. No, that was all Buffy. Not the Slayer.. And certainly not his slayer. No, he gave that chance up a long time ago.  
  
"You're brooding." She quipped.  
  
Wesley was mildly insulted.  
  
"I am most certainly not."  
  
"And you're being British again. Don't do that. It makes you . a ponce. Even though I have no idea what that means, I'm very sure it's insulting."  
  
Wesley was very insulted.  
  
"The last man who called me a ponce ended up comatose." He sniffed.  
  
Buffy raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Wow, you really have changed."  
  
"For the worse, I suppose."  
  
Buffy shook her head.  
  
"I think it's for the better, if you ask me. You used to be. poncey. And immature, and inexperienced." She said slowly. "Now you're cool. And you've adverted at least a few apocalypses. And you're research mojo guy. And I like your hair now." She squinted at him. It was hard to see properly, the bar was only dimly lit.  
  
"Are those highlights?"  
  
"Are you a real blonde?"  
  
She fell silent.  
  
"That's not fair."  
  
"Fairness is not issued here. Strategy is."  
  
She grinned at him.  
  
"I still can't get over the fact that you're cool now. How on earth did you lose your job as my watcher again?"  
  
"If I remember correctly, you did fire me."  
  
She pouted at him.  
  
"You were a ponce at the time!"  
  
"And there we go again."  
  
"Well, if you want to, you can be my watcher again." This was the stage of very drunkenness. And this was such the case in fact, that he even briefly considered it. All that he could have. his father's approval, a chance to apologize to Angel. And once again, he was too drunk. "You're drunk Buffy," he advised. "Don't you have to go home?"  
  
She waved him off.  
  
"It's summer vacation, Dawn's sleeping over at her friends'. And I quit my job. Now I've living off blackmail money." She sighed. "It'll last. hopefully, till I get my next job."  
  
Wesley took this in thoughtfully. An idea came up, but it was too late and too complicated to pursue when both of them are in their drunken states.  
  
"So," said Buffy. "You and this Lilah person. Talk."  
  
And once again, their rather twisted game of Truth or Dare resumed. 


End file.
